So Long, You Were Right
by missmaggiemalfoy
Summary: A Liebgott/Webster songfic set to Backseat Goodbye's "So Long, You Were Right."


"So Long, You Were Right"

_Hell yeah, I made it out._

_ What else would you expect?_

_ My mind's a mess, and my heart's a wreck. _

Bastogne- it was the coldest and the most miserable that most of the Easy Company men had ever felt in their lives. Food was in shortage, clothing was in severe shortage, and most of the men hadn't slept in days. They stayed strong, though, and defended their position in the cold forest as the winter days rolled by.

It was December 25th of 1944, and it was the first Christmas away from home for some of the boys. It was a long day, and an even longer night. The wind was biting and the air was chilled so fiercely that it felt as if it could cut through skin and saw through bone.

This was where Joseph Liebgott and David Kenyon Webster found themselves. They were crouched low in a foxhole, trying desperately to sleep but finding it nearly useless. They stayed like this for a while, not moving, not speaking, when Joe got up the courage to speak to Webster.

_ Oh, well._

_ That's how it goes, another week,_

_ And I won't know what it even means to be alone. _

"Hey, Webster," he muttered, his teeth chattering like a machine gun. "Got a light?"

Webster lifted his head and looked at Joe incredulously and tiredly. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small lighter. He handed it to Joe and then reburied his face in the shadows of the foxhole.

"I didn't know you smoked," Joe commented, lighting his cigarette. He took a long drag and smiled, waiting for Webster to reply. When he didn't, Joe gently nudged him.

"Still alive, buddy?" He asked cautiously. Suddenly, Webster's face appeared angrily.

"Do you mind?" He growled and returned to his tucked-away position. Joe shrugged, looking up at the vast night sky.

"I just thought, since it is Christmas night and all… Well, we don't want to have a sad end to such a marvelous day, do we?" He grinned sarcastically. Webster looked up at him, and Joe could see his clear blue eyes glinting in the dark.

"I don't smoke," he sighed, emerging from his reserved arrangement and sitting up. "The lighter's a present for a friend back home." Joe's eyes sparkled with curiosity, knowing that this was the beginning of his first 'Webster story.'

_ Call me all you want, I'm skipping town._

_ I'm going to cut my hair and feel fine for a while._

_ Maybe start a band a call it 'So Long, You Were Right,'_

_ And find myself a new home every night. _

Joe heard about Webster's best friends from school, that night. He learned about Webster's love for writing and about how passionately he appreciated words. He laughed at the appropriate places and nodded solemnly at others. After a few hours, they were both chuckling and clutching the stitches in their sides, forgetting about the cold for a little while.

When it wasn't officially Christmas anymore and the clock had passed midnight, the Joe had an idea. He proposed that, in celebration of the new friendship and Christmas, he would sneak over to Lewis Nixon's foxhole and steal some of his precious Vat 69. Webster was adamantly against this idea at first. Joe convinced him, though, with promising talk of warm alcohol in their bellies and a way to mentally check-out o f the ominous war, even just for a night.

Joe was creeping over to where he guessed Nixon's foxhole would be when he heard footsteps behind him. Thinking he was going to get caught and chastised by Dick Winters or even Nixon himself, he dove headfirst into the nearest foxhole. He landed supremely ungracefully on the head of Bill Guarnere.

"Liebgott, is that you? Why, you little-" Wild Bill started, but Joe clamped a hand over his mouth. It was too late, however, and a figure stooped low over the foxhole.

"Now, what are you boys up to tonight?" The voice of Colonel Robert Sink commanded. The boys in the foxhole, frozen by fear, said nothing. It was only when they heard "Sink" laughing that they realized it was only their friend, George Luz, impersonating him.

"George," Bill called up. "What are you doing out of your foxhole?"

"Well, I saw our good buddy Liebgott get out of his, so I thought I'd follow him and see what he was up to," George winked at Joe in the dark and helped him out of the foxhole.

"Webster and I got bored, so I'm going to get some of Nixon's Vat 69," he told Luz. Luz grinned and slapped his knee.

"Sounds like a party!" He shouted. "Count me in."

_ So you hate your past,_

_ I don't think about that._

_ Why worry if the ghosts can't get you?  
_

"I think it's in his vest pockets," Joe whispered to Skip Muck, who had been nominated to go and retrieve the coveted bottles. Joe clapped him on the back and prodded him softly into the foxhole. The group had grown by now; along the way, Muck, Perconte, Toye (freshly back from the medic station in town), Guarnere and Luz had joined Liebgott.

Muck teetered over the edge and stumbled into Nixon's foxhole. He was opposite the sleeping Nixon, who was snoring loudly. Muck was stifling laughter as he crept closer to the man.

When he was near enough, he tentatively reached out and felt Nixon's vest pockets. Sure enough, there were two tiny bottles in each of the two pockets. Beaming, Muck retrieved them and backed away. Suddenly, he tripped over a cigar tin and fell backwards. Nixon sat bolt upright, but he couldn't see anything in the dark. Muck hit the ground, unmoving and not daring to breathe until Nixon grumbled and went back to sleep.

The boys helped Muck out of the foxhole, and he collapsed in a heap on the ground.

"Never again," he whispered, furious but laughing as he threw the tiny bottles at his friends, "will you talk me into doing something so stupid."

_Everyone's a poet these days,_

_ Spouting off about how they 'just don't get it.'_

_ Stop writing about life and living._

Webster had nodded off by the time all six boys returned to his foxhole. Joe plopped down into the foxhole, along with Luz and Muck. Toye, Guarnere and Perconte sat down along the sides, dangling their legs into the hole. They were chatting in excited, hushed tones when Joe got in Webster's face to wake him up.

"Hey, Harvard Boy," he grinned, lightly slapping Webster on the cheek. "We're back." Webster shot up and reached out in the dark, accidentally smacking Luz in the face.

"Jeez, Web," Luz groaned, rubbing his face. "We steal Nix's drinks for you and this is how you repay us?"

"You got it?" Webster asked, confused and rubbing his eyes.

"Did you doubt us?" Joe chuckled and popped the top off one of the tiny bottles. He lifted it in the air and smirked at Webster.

"To risking our necks for ungrateful fools," he said, bringing the bottle to his lips and tasting the sweet liquid.

_It's funny how I never know your name._

_ It's been 23 years, and I still feel the same._

_ As lost as the next, just waiting for a new way to say,_

_ This hurts like hell, but it'll be okay._

The six boys of Easy Company got wasted that night. Well, they got as wasted as they could from the four tiny bottles. It was strong, though, and it hit them hard.

It was nearing five o'clock AM when Toye, Muck and Perconte stumbled off. Toye had spent the night rambling about the 'foxy nurses' back at the medic station, while Muck had settled for drunkenly slurring nursery rhymes. Perconte had fallen asleep hours ago, and the boys were closer to carrying him back than walking with him.

Guarnere left soon after, staggering away and laughing hysterically the whole way. He'd told an intriguing ghost story earlier in the night, one that featured a housecat named Jill and a kettle called Frank. It hadn't been frightening, but the real entertainment had come from when Muck started reciting 'Frank and Jill' to the rhythm of 'Jack and Jill,' deeply confused by Guarnere's ghost story.

Luz was the last to leave, and he wandered back to his foxhole singing 'Home on the Range' in a shockingly high falsetto. Just before he reached his hole, he turned back to Webster and Joe in the dark. He tipped his hat and tripped into the foxhole, making the two boys roar with laughter.

"What a night, huh, Web?" Joe sighed, wiping tears of laughter from his face. He slung his arm around Webster, still heavily under the influence of the Vat 69.

"Yeah," Webster laughed, leaning back to look up at the stars. "What a night."

"Merry Christmas, Web," Joe leaned in, kissing Webster on the cheek. He promptly rolled over and began snoring soundly. Webster grinned, happy to have a new friend in Joseph Liebgott. He reached over to tousle the Jewish boy's hair before falling asleep himself.

_ Yeah, this hurts like hell¸ but it'll be okay._

_ This hurts like hell, but it'll be okay._


End file.
